“No,” Moira said. “When Carmen felt the black magic, she didn’t know what it was—that’s why she cast every protective spell she could think of. In a truth ritual, the witch would need seeds from the flowers. They were everywhere, but only those east of the willow tree grew when Carmen cast the growth spell.”
“Why?”
Moira shrugged. “She either faced that way or the magician used that clearing for the original spell or that was the way the wind blew.”
“We’ll talk to Grant, give him the list I made, talk to the girls—make sure they stick close to home.”
Moira opened the folder on her lap. She’d copied the names and addresses of everyone in the cabin, but she’d also grabbed a picture from the files. “This is the photo of everyone in the cabin. Beth. Amy.” She pointed to the girls. “That leaves eight more girls plus the counselor.”
Rafe glanced at the photograph as he turned onto the main highway headed back to Los Angeles. He immediately recognized Amy. Her smile had been carefree. She’d been happy.
Her soul deserved to have peace. She needed justice. Rafe felt a fire he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Chapter Five
At ten o’clock that night, Rafe and Moira met Grant in the parking lot of their hotel. It wasn’t raining, but the night had turned cold and a damp mist clouded all the streetlights, casting a gloomy glow across the parking lot. Perfect for Rafe’s current mood.
He glanced at Moira as she slid into the cramped backseat of Grant’s sports car. He wished he’d convinced her to tone it down. She’d told him that they’d stand out more if they went in subtle, and she was probably right, but he didn’t like the way every man in the hotel lobby had turned and stared at her as she crossed the room. She was stunning and sexy.
As if reading his mind, Carter turned in the passenger seat to assess her. He grinned broadly. “Perfect.”
Rafe slammed the door shut and glared at him.
Moira smiled, her lips painted shiny blood red. “I know.”
After leaving the camp and sending Grant the information they’d uncovered, they’d shopped at vintage clothing stores so they could dress appropriately for a club like Defiance. Rafe wore all-black: slacks, a button-down shirt over a T-shirt and trench coat. He reluctantly agreed to let Moira put dark eye make-up around his eyes, which was popular in nocturnal clubs.
Moira wore a red and black lace bodice that pushed her perfect breasts both together and out, a long full black skirt with a slit so high up one side that her garter was visible. Her fishnet stockings ended in boots that went up to her knee. Rafe knew she had her knife concealed but readily accessible in her right boot.
She’d left her long, dark hair down her bare back, concealing her scars. It was naturally wavy, but she’d spent time putting even more curls in. It was her make-up that was the biggest surprise since she rarely wore any—the foundation, the smoky eyes, the dark red lipstick, the long eyelashes. He preferred the natural Moira. He understood why it was important they play the roles, and Moira was already acting the part, making him feel as if she were an imposter.
A black choker adorned with a cameo wrapped around her neck. The cameo was a blessed artifact they’d picked up from a friend of St. Michael’s Order. Inside was a relic of a saint. It wouldn’t protect them completely, but if there was a demon at Defiance, it would reveal itself in some way if close to Moira.
“This plan won’t work,” Rafe said as Grant drove.
“You want in, this is the way to get in,” Carter said. “You’re both perfect. Keep that brooding expression on your face and you’re a shoo-in.” He laughed, and even the sullen Grant cracked a smile, but Rafe didn’t see the humor in the situation.
Rafe considered that he might be jealous, but it wasn’t that—it was that he didn’t like what other people were thinking about Moira. He couldn’t read their minds, but he didn’t have to—the lust was on each man’s face when they looked at her. And Rafe saw how Carter couldn’t take his eyes off Moira. Grant, fortunately, was all business.
“I did a little surveillance,” Grant said. “I can park a block down, kitty corner to the club and keep my eye on the entrance. I’ll be on my radio, Carter has one as well. Small, concealable. I’ll hear everything that’s going on, so stick with Carter.”
“What did you learn from the information about the camp?” Moira asked Grant.
“Between Jeff and me, we contacted the remaining six families who had girls staying in the cabin, plus the counselor. Everyone is accounted for. No one is missing.” He looked glum. “Maybe you’re wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
“The killer might not be from the victims’ cabin—”
“I said nothing about the killer. I said that someone in that cabin cast a very dangerous truth spell over the place, it killed all the plants in a five foot radius, and she is involved in the coven responsible for Amy’s death.”
“Whoa,” Carter said. “Coven? As in witches and warlocks and broomsticks?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Moira snapped. “We explained earlier about black magic and blood sacrifices.”
“I didn’t take you seriously.”
Rafe took Moira’s hand to keep her from slapping Carter. It jingled with the many bracelets she wore. He said, “If you can’t be serious, and understand that we have a lot of experience with the occult, then you will be a danger to yourself and to us in that club.”
Carter stared at him, but Rafe didn’t back down. Finally, Carter said, “I understand. I’m not necessarily buying into everything you’re saying, but there’s enough weird stuff going on in this case that I won’t discount a threat even if I can’t see it.”
Moira asked Grant, “Is something watching the six girls? What about the counselor?”
“What am I supposed to tell them? That they were cursed and if they’re virgins they’re going to have their blood withdrawn until their hearts stop beating?”
“What good are the police if you can’t keep your eye on a few girls who are in immediate danger?”
“I don’t have six cops to put on six girls. Not to mention the counselor. Especially on the word of a...a...hell, I don’t even know what to call you. If I even mention psychic to my chief, he’ll laugh his ass off before he fires me.”
“I’m not a psychic!”
Rafe glanced at her. She was, and she knew it, though she was fighting it every step of the way. How else could she explain her visions? She called them dreams, but they didn’t come only in sleep. The vision at the willow tree was only the latest.
Grant didn’t push it. He exited the freeway and almost immediately they were in a light industrial area. The only businesses that were open flashed neon signs proclaiming nude dancers, half-off drinks after midnight, or all-night dancing.
Grant said, “Tomorrow we’re going to go through the rest of the campers—those who weren’t in Amy and Beth’s cabin, but were there the same week.”
“Tomorrow will be too late!”
Grant glared at Moira in the rearview mirror. “You could have screwed up this whole investigation talking to the camp owner. I told you both to stay out of it.”
“Like I care,” Moira snapped. “The only important thing is to stop the ritual that is going to take place tomorrow night.”
“No, the important thing is to find out who killed Amy Carney and put him or her in prison.”
“If this is truly a vampiric coven like we think,” Rafe said, “there’s more than one person involved.”
“Then I want to put them all in prison,” Grant said. “Don’t fuck it up. This is an off-the-books investigation right now—at least related to the club. If there’s nothing there, I want to know so I can focus my efforts elsewhere. If there is a connection, I need something solid that I can take to my boss. Something more than Moira’s psychic feelings.”
Moira rolled her eyes and looked out the window as Grant pulled over on a narrow side street that intersecte
d another narrow street.
“Defiance is across the street, down at the other corner. There’s no visible markings on the building,” Carter said, “but there’s a bouncer. He’s my CI.”
“I need to get out of this car,” Moira said. “This corset or whatever it is they call it is not only too tight, it itches, so let’s get going before I decide dressing like a vamp isn’t necessary for this game.”
Chapter Six
Moira had her inner shields up as they approached Defiance so that any magic wouldn’t overwhelm her. Slowly, with each step, she let the atmosphere seep in as they grew closer to the club. The light spread dully from the lampposts, indistinct in the misty drizzle that had started to fall. It was also oddly quiet for an L.A. neighborhood, only the distant sound of cars and the low beat of music breaking into the still night.
She released her internal guard bit by bit as she walked. She felt something in the air, but it wasn’t focused. Dark magical energy flitted around her, touching her without purpose. She held her bare arms a few inches from her body, palms up, trying to touch the energy so she’d know what type of spell was at work. She wasn’t scared; this energy wasn’t aimed at her or anyone specific. It was more a gentle pulse, soothing and comfortable.
Moira stopped a few feet from the entrance and closed her eyes.
“What do you feel?” Rafe asked quietly. She felt his hand on her back and through it his worries and protectiveness toward her. When he dropped it she breathed easier. His anxiety made it hard for her to feel anything but him.
Carter looked back at them. “You coming?”
“One minute,” Moira said.
Carter shrugged and said, “I’ll talk to the bouncer.” He approached the metal door and knocked.
The drizzle was turning to rain, but Moira stayed rooted to her spot. Rafe slipped off his trench coat to put over her shoulders, but Moira shook her head. “I’m okay. I realized something. I feel the magic with my skin, swirling supernatural energy, like a touch of smoke. I always thought I sensed magic with my mind, and that’s part of it, but touch dominates.” This newfound knowledge excited Moira. It was as if she were in more control, even though the magic was surrounding her. Knowing how she understood it gave her hope.
“Can you take a step back?” she asked Rafe. His emotions crowded in, and it was clouding her ability to decipher the spell.
His reluctance radiated from him, but he took two steps back and then the feeling of smoke increased. “It’s not a spell,” she whispered.
“Residual energy?” Rafe asked.
“I don’t know—it’s not an active spell, but it doesn’t feel stale, either.” She glanced back at him. “I think we’ll be okay, but be alert.”
“Always.”
Carter was watching her from the doorway, along with the bouncer. She didn’t know how long they’d been staring at her, but she smiled at the two men as she sauntered over, stepping into her role with each footfall. “Hello, laddie,” she said to the bouncer, letting her Irish accent she usually tamed come out strong. “Are we okay?” She winked, tilting her chin up, looking from the bouncer to Carter and back again.
“All good. I took care of the cover charge. You can pay me back later.” Carter made the comment sound sexual.
Moira played along, not knowing what exactly to expect inside and not wanting to blow Carter’s cover. “Whatever you want, sugar.”
Carter slipped the bouncer cash and they stepped inside. Small red lights like from a Christmas tree lined the floor on one side of the long, dark hall. Edgy, alternative instrumental music, neither too loud nor too heavy, wrapped around them. The dark energy she’d felt outside was stronger in here, but like before, it was unfocused, just floating around. Moira didn’t know what to make of it, but kept her senses open so if it changed or turned into an attack, she’d know it instantly.
They were almost to the end of the hall when Moira sensed a hidden door to the right. It was painted black, like the walls, but there was a slight change in pressure. She pressed her fingers against a seam.
“Door,” she said. “Just in case we need it.”
They turned the corner and walked into the main room. It wasn’t what Moira had expected. It looked more like an elegant, turn-of-the-century hotel lobby. Groupings of ornate, red Victorian couches and chairs; tables for two; a beer and wine bar down the middle. The walls were covered in black material—possibly velvet, but she didn’t want to touch—and several large paintings that were both beautiful and horrific hung in strategic places, all with bloody themes. Burgundy and black silk sheets hung loosely from the ceiling, giving the large, square warehouse an intimate, gothic appearance. It was Friday night, and the place was full but not uncomfortably crowded. She estimated maybe a hundred people, some dressed even more elaborately than she was, some dressed very basic. Clothing came primarily in leather, rubber or lace, while black and red dominated the color scheme with hints of purple and ivory.
A tall, pale man with long, golden blond hair approached. He differed from everyone else because he wore a tuxedo. Not only was the suit black, but the shirt and tie as well.
When he spoke, Moira noticed he had small fangs. Most likely filed down, not implants.
“Hello,” he said with a slight bow. “First visit?”
“Yes,” Moira said. She gestured to the lush seating areas. “Very nice.”
She almost did a double take when she saw a man suck on a woman’s neck while they sat on a small couch.
“I thought you’d like it,” Carter said as he ran his hand down her bare arm. “Let’s get a drink.”
Goldilocks looked from Carter to Rafe, then smiled at Moira. He didn’t need to say a word, Moira knew exactly what gutter his mind had gone to, but she didn’t correct him. Part of the act, she reminded herself.
“That would be lovely,” she said. “Rafe knows what I like.” She waved her hand to dismiss both of them. There was something about Goldilocks that she needed to figure out, and Rafe’s protective vibes were completely distracting her.
Rafe walked between her and Mr. Tux Guy. It was obvious he wasn’t comfortable with either Carter or leaving her alone with the stranger. She tilted her head up, revealing her long milky white neck for Rafe. Something primitive flashed in his eyes and he grabbed her and kissed her on the sensitive hollow of her neck with an open mouth. A jolt of lust she wasn’t expecting coursed through her, then he held her gaze for a long second, making her flush, before following Carter to the bar.
She covered her surprise by licking her lips. She looked up at Goldilocks. “He tries to be possessive.”
“But you are in charge.”
“How did you guess?”
He gestured toward the bar with his whole arm. “Two men who can’t keep their eyes off you. Of course, this is no surprise to me. You are a stunning woman. What is your name?”
“Moira.”
“You’re from Ireland.”
“My accent always gives me away, luv. And you?”
“Rex. This is my place.” He took her arm with his. “Please allow me to escort you to a seating area.”
His touch did something to her. Or, rather, she felt something very much like what she felt at the willow tree earlier that day. A snapshot of time past, as if she were someone else walking with Rex through this exact club. Then it was gone.
The magic that had swirled around her outside was here, in this room, and she felt it ten times stronger as soon as Rex touched her bare arm. She couldn’t turn away from him without arousing suspicion so she worked at putting up some of her internal shields against the bombarding negative energy.
She had been so certain that the person responsible was a woman, but there was darkness here, with Rex. She glanced at him. Handsome golden boy. Strong jaw, chiseled features. Younger than she thought. Much younger. Not over twenty-five. Dressed different, he could easily pass as a college student. Maybe he was the lure. The boyfriend Amy had told Rafe about.
&nb
sp; She’d had two brief visions, both involving Amy Carney. One at the camp when she touched the willow tree and one here, when Rex touched her. Maybe she was seeing things through Amy’s eyes. Except during the first vision she was looking at Amy. Trying to make sense of what she felt and saw, she missed what Rex was saying to her.
“Pardon me?” she said, covering her confusion with a sexy smile.
“How is this?” Rex had stopped next to a long red velvet couch in the center of the club flanked by two black leather chairs. “Please sit.”
“Thank you.” She sat, relieved to not be touching Rex anymore. She crossed her legs, revealing the garter on her right thigh, and put her hands on her knee.
Rex sat next to her and took her hand. So much for getting away from him. “Your skin is lovely. Soft, but you have strong, well-defined muscles. A contradiction. Contradictions intrigue me.”
ENTANGLED Page 38
